Catalyst
by DXRULES103
Summary: The past always comes back. It holds much power over the present, and creates a future that is unimaginable. Only through instinct can any truly survive. For House and Wilson, Natasha is the past. She is the catalyst.


**Disclaimer**: I own no one except for "she" whose real name will be revealed later.

**A/N**: High school, personal problems, and other stuff have been keeping me away from my stories. I do not know for sure when I will update this story or any other, but I'll try the best I can to.

**Summary**: The past always comes back. It holds much power over the present, and creates a future that is unimaginable. Only through instinct can any truly survive. For House and Wilson, Natasha is the past. She is the catalyst.

**Catalyst**

**Prologue**

The street was empty with no cars driving by, no buses stopping to pick up passengers, and no people walking the concrete road. It was early; early enough for the wild life to almost come close to waking, for the autumn sun to barely rise while hardly letting anything cast a visible shadow. There was a silence that was the companion of the fall cold. Stillness prevailed with only the crisp wind blowing by.

Mayfield Institution looked as it was made to be. It didn't pass as a building structured to bring hope, but to prolong the forlorn. No electric lights illuminated its presence, the grass wasn't green, and the darkness that slightly covered it warned of upcoming helplessness. It was the house of the ultimate duplicity.

And upon its steps; the steps that led to a person to being caged and drugged because that person was deemed insane, stood a woman. Her long dark hair shined despite the lack of sunlight. Dressed in Levi jeans, a polo shirt, and a thin zipper jacket, the cold surely should have taken its toll on her. But it didn't.

This woman was untouched. Whatever chill that may have run down her spine had no effect on her for she did not shiver. It was because she sometimes could not feel the cold, and because her will was strong. She was a woman that knew the cold and welcomed its embrace. She was still and numb. If any dared to attempt to pass her by, that person would cease to move and be mesmerized by her purple eyes. Her eyes weren't the windows to her soul. No, those particular eyes rare in color were orbs that could penetrate other people's souls.

The woman didn't blink nor inhaled or exhaled. She was completely removed from the present. A far off memory decided to resurface in her head. It was of a winter of a life that long passed; of a time where she was but a child thrust into a whirl of danger and pain so young. It was there where she matured too quickly due to unloving glances from her peers.

But then some form of hope came to her. She was able to enjoy a rare bout of happiness. And perhaps she even felt that fleeting feeling of much consequence: love. This happened when she stared deep into depths of blue which was so unyielding, so like her, and so curious.

The building before her represented just about everything she was set against. She disapproved of defining someone as genius or insane, and disliked the fact that if someone was diagnosed as the latter that human being would be sent to shack up in a house that wanted to ruin them.

There were people that walked a fine line between genius and insanity. She was one of them. She survived. And she knew that _he_ was one of them. But could _he _survive? That was a question that plagued her for so long. And now she knew the answer. She found it there at these very steps.

She wasn't upset that _he _went to this place for help. She had no will to blame him for the decision. She was just disappointed. He was stronger than that. Sure, for the years that passed that one winter she wondered about his survival, but she never doubted him. But this was different. What _he _did was different. And the question rang in her mind.

_Why did you succumb?_

She blinked.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

The apartment was hardly empty. In reality, it was filled with all the stuff that was left behind. The books were on the shelves, the food was in the refrigerator, and the guitar still hung on the wall. And the piano stood tall and regal as if it knew its importance to its master.

For many a year this was a home; it was his home. He had gone through plenty of trials here. He laughed, he cried, and he freed himself here. Something akin to happiness linked him to this place. Perhaps, a part of him remained here.

He lived with his friend – his only friend – now. It was a measure on his part to stay sane; to accept the support that friend was willing to give. But it wasn't his home. It was just some place he was staying at. Nothing permanent was in the place.

He didn't know when he'd be able or even ready to reclaim his old – perhaps his only – home. He hoped it would be soon. It would be something to finally lie in his own bed. But he knew better. Soon always became too late.

Mayfield still lingered his brilliant mind. He could still feel the pain, the seclusion, the betrayal, the emptiness, the pit, and the missed chances. He had survived the farmhouse, or so he led himself to believe. He even changed – somewhat and he knew the others approved. But something inside burned in a rage as if by submitting to what the supposedly helping superiors at Mayfield was some unfathomable mistake he shouldn't have made.

Limping towards his door, his mind flashed to a long forgotten memory. The smell of the chill of winter pressured his senses as the picture of that little girl with strange indigo eyes came to him. _She _was a part of a time where he resided in the cold. Those moments were spent with that little girl.

That was the little girl that enraptured him when he was but a teenager. _She _was young, innocent, and remarkable callus. He knew what tormented her then for _she _was so like him, but also someone on an entirely different level. That winter was of his genius meeting _her_ insanity. But it was worth it.

As quickly as it came, the memory faded. But _her _purple eyes that struck his heart so long ago once again burned him. He knew the unbeatable and dominant will and spirit _she _possessed. After all, he admired _her _mind more than anyone else's. But he couldn't help but wonder – maybe even fear. Did _she _escape the bonds that bound her? Was _she _able to ignore the torture that stalked _her_? Was _her _will still like steel? Or did it fade away with his abandonment?

He shook his head. Nothing could alter that past and he knew it. All he could do was push _her _memory aside once more, and try to move on.

His heart skipped a beat.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

TBC


End file.
